


a spectacular job

by dvldegg



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Dorks in Love, Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Canon, crowley specifically is the dork in love here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 11:09:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20173270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dvldegg/pseuds/dvldegg
Summary: crowley and aziraphale find a little cottage and move in. crowley decides they don't need to hire movers.





	a spectacular job

**Author's Note:**

> since i moved into my new home last weekend and was reminded of this concept after a hilariously convoluted attempt at getting my couch through my front door...have this!

When Aziraphale and Crowley _ finally _ move in together, they find a nice cottage near the water in south downs. Every sentient being on the planet harbors an innate dislike for moving; just ask the spiders that are regularly evicted from their homes during spring cleaning. Occult couples are no different. 

So naturally, they split the move in process. Aziraphale takes over the kitchen and reading room, Crowley is in charge of the living and bedroom. For Aziraphale, he just thinks it into completion and spends about an hour taking stock of his books, making sure they're all present, and that his favorite chair is situated in the sunniest part of the room for Crowley who would inevitably doze off in it (usually while in Aziraphale’s lap).

But when he comes out to see what Crowley has done with the other rooms, he finds Crowley stuck trying to shoulder a particularly old and hefty recliner in through the front door.

“Do you need some help, dear?”

“No, nearly. There.” Crowley grits out, trying to inch the chair that didn’t seem at all inclined to cooperate through the doorway.*

_ *No one cared to ask it; but the chair, had it been capable of speech and independent thought, would have suggested that Crowley unscrew its feet and turn it on its side. _

“Why don’t you just miracle it inside? Your scales are starting to show.” Which only ever happened when Crowley focused so closely on something he forgot to maintain his corporeal form. (It happened, most often, in the bedroom when Aziraphale had Crowley whimpering beneath him.)

“Almost. Got it.” Crowley hisses, setting the chair down for one blessed- one cursed- one short moment of relief.

“Crowley-” Aziraphale starts. But Crowley is already hauling up the chair, brow furrowed in determination.

Aziraphale allows him another few moments of effort, before tutting and transporting his husband and the chair just within the threshold. 

Disoriented, crowley drops the chair (which miraculously lands on the ground with a gentle _ thunk _) and then narrows his eyes at Aziraphale.

“I _ said _ I nearly had it!” he shouts, not unlike a petulant child who didn’t get their way.

Aziraphale’s brows nearly shoot off his face, his lips parting with a bewildered, “I- I’m sorry.”

With a quick gesture, Crowley has the chair situated where he’d planned initially, muttering, “No. ‘S my fault. I just-”

He quickly decides to omit how he’d hoped by moving the furniture himself he would impress Aziraphale. He also omits how the chair was the first and only thing he’d managed to carry to the door and that he’d miracled the rest of the furniture into the cottage when he’d realized moving the furniture would be much less enjoyable than he’d anticipated.

“I’m sorry.” he huffs, lamely, and sidles over to the mantle to rearrange empty, mismatched picture frames.*

_ *Picture frames they wouldn’t have if Madame Tracey hadn’t taken them both shopping for household accessories upon learning that they were moving in together. She thought of borrowing her niece’s camera and cajoling the pair into an impromptu photoshoot, as well. But that idea quickly dissolved when her niece tried to give her a crash course on amateur photography that became more of a lecture than a tutorial. _

Warm, solid arms wrap around Crowley’s waist from behind, lips grazing gently against the back of his neck. Aziraphale, unsure of the source of Crowley’s small tantrum but completely sure of how to calm him, presses a small kiss to Crowley’s neck and murmurs, 

“For what it matters, I think you’ve done a spectacular job here.”

(To Aziraphale’s credit, he _ does _ think the living area looks charming and not just because he has no concept of modern interior decor, although that may be a major factor.)

Crowley deflates under Aziraphale’s touch, his embarrassment giving way to remorse.

“Just thought it’d be cool to carry it in myself all big and strong like. I think they need to make these doors wider.” 

And _ goodness _ it sounds laughable, even to him, as he mumbles it out loud. 

Smiling against Crowley’s shoulder the angel hums, “They just don’t make them like they used to on the ark, do they?”

“Oh, Shut up.”

Crowley weakly elbows Aziraphale in the stomach and turns around in his embrace, quietly delighting when he feels a hand slide down into a back pocket.

“Darling, I do adore you but, where did you get the idea that this particular form would ever be able to bring in furniture like _ that _on its own?”

he gestures with his eyes to the chair (which was coincidentally situated in the sunniest part of the room), chuckling.

Crowley, beginning to attempt wiggling his way out of aziraphale’s hold, offers an unintelligible dissenting noise. To keep him close and just because he wants to, Aziraphale palms Crowley’s ass, drawing him flush against his chest. His husband jumps and sputters indignantly (though the deepening color of his cheeks would suggest otherwise), instinctively resting his hands on his shoulders.

“That’s foul play!” Crowley exclaims, smiling despite himself.

“And you _ like _ it.” Aziraphale points out, grinning mischievously as he leans up to trail lingering kisses along Crowley’s jaw. 

Crowley, already forgetting why he was upset in the first place, chuckles unevenly, “Then, this is abusing the system.” 

Aziraphale’s lips press just under Crowley’s ear, his voice warm and low against his skin, “Oh, not yet, it isn’t.” 

Crowley shudders at that.

This wasn’t quite how he’d expected to seduce the angel but he can’t bring himself to mind. especially not with how Aziraphale’s lips work down his neck.

(Aziraphale doesn’t point out that _Crowley _ was, in fact, the one to be seduced.)


End file.
